Days of Our Lives
by Jaslazul
Summary: Three years after the Aparoids, an unlikely partnership has formed, and no one has any idea if it was the right thing to do. An emergency call at three in the morning is a welcome diversion from their endless bickering. Oneshot slice-of-life with light Fox/Wolf.


Hey all!

I have a lot of tiny ideas floating around, and I figured I could use them to force myself to write something quickly.

This is disjoint from _Black and White_ and set a couple of years down the line, sort of like how _A Series of Unfortunate Events_ is many years back. The Fox and Wolf are pretty similar, and the spirit of them is consistent, but I don't quite see the events on the same timeline in the same world. So I wouldn't consider anything in here as a spoiler for my ongoing story, more just a theoretical future. If there's interest, I might write out a couple more of these silly little ideas.

Let me know what you think! I welcome all forms of feedback.

* * *

"How many we got?"

"Three, four, judging by that ship."

Wolf's voice crackled in his ear despite him only being two feet away, but even then, it was barely audible above the weary creaks of the locking mechanism docking their little craft to the station. Fox couldn't see Wolf's snout through the glass of his helmet, and there was barely room for the two of them in the airlock when they both had their rifles. Still, he knew Wolf was staring at him, and he was staring right back. There was little need for words; they had their plan.

"We're not gonna have much time," Wolf said, as the door latched into place. A loud hiss sounded, and it slowly died as the air sucked away, leaving them in near-silence. "They've got about ten minutes on us."

"Gotta be fast. Doors are opening. Let's _move_!"

The latch creaked open, and together, the two of them leapt in. The station was pitch-black save the blaring red flashes that came with each silent scream of the alarm. This first room was empty, save an enormous server rack up against the back wall. Fox kept his rifle held in front of him and used its light to scan. One quick pass by eye, then a glance down at the sensors on his comm. "Clear."

Fox had already turned his body towards the left corridor when Wolf's voice blared in his ear again. "Sure you can handle yourself all alone?" He could _hear_ the sneer on his rival's face.

"I oughtta be asking _you_ that, old man." Fox kicked off down his path.

The air was intolerably thin, but at least the gravity was adequate. That's about what you'd expect on a science vessel, where oxidation and humidity and _telluric lines_ (Fox never bothered to ask Slippy what that meant) were always the enemy. It was just inviting enough to make it accessible to the occasional maintenance crew, and every room Fox pushed through was a mess of tools, electronics, and bizarre scientific instrumentation. He'd memorized the ship's layout and used that to guide him, but he had to keep his eyes open for their little thieves. The constant shift in intensity from that overbearing red light had his eyes reeling, unable to decide if his pupils wanted to dilate or shrink.

Four turns into his journey, his light shined on the glint of an ape's spacesuit. Instinct kicked in: before he could even process the sight, Fox had his rifle trained on him and he dumped a good five or six blasts before ducking back around the bend and resting his back against the sharp metal of the wall. Blaster shots slammed into the hull just past where he'd been standing a few moments earlier, and he held up an arm to shield himself from any of the plasma that bounced back his way.

"You know, Fox, there are much better ways you could wake me up at three in the morning," came Wolf's voice.

Fox gripped his gun with both hands and laughed. "Don't get your hopes up." He turned, and when he couldn't see the ape in his line of sight, crept forward. Down the corridor he went, one slow step at a time, until he came to the doorway. Then, he lurched forward into the room and spun to his left.

The wretch was waiting for him, blade drawn and shimmering with energy: one good smack with that thing would stun him, even through the suit. Fox saw his arms reel back in preparation for a strike.

Fox's foot slammed into the ape's knee, and a moment later, the butt of that rifle smacked into his chest. A final crack to the head was enough to shatter the glass of the ape's helmet.

"Amateur," he muttered, then crouched down. A few moments later, Fox had cuffs around his wrists, and he'd wrestled off the ape's comm.

"Hey, Wolf," he said as he stood. "Ran into an ape who looked like he mighta taken a few pages from your book. Dropped him in three seconds flat. I swear, they're getting worse."

He passed the ape's comm in front of his own and scanned it for ID. He sucked his teeth when nothing interesting came up. Must just be thugs looking to swipe and sell the data. No surprise; Slippy'd said this place wasn't exactly well guarded.

"Not on any team as far as I can tell. Probably gangsters or low-lifes." He waited a few moments for Wolf's voice to chime up, but got nothing. "Wolf? Wolf. _Answer_."

Fox dropped the comm, turned back around, and started rushing towards Wolf's position. He was already halfway there when he finally heard his voice. "There were three of those fuckers."

Fox paused, letting the momentum in his steps die until he came to a halt. His breaths were strained; sprinting in all this gear wasn't easy. "And you didn't call for help? You'd really do anything to one-up me, wouldn't you?"

Wolf's laugh sounded breathy. "Get your ass over here and let's clean up. I..." Come to think of it, he sounded a little ragged. "Took a pretty nasty shot."

Fox frowned. "I'll be right over."

* * *

"Shit, that doesn't look good..."

Wolf's upper arm was damp with blood. He waved his other hand. "Ain't as bad as it looks."

Crouched on his knees in front of the couch, Fox balled up Wolf's undershirt and set it aside on the little coffee table behind him. Just behind that was the big black science-box Slippy had wanted them to rescue, and the assortment of data drives logged from the instrument lay right atop it. Fox wasn't so concerned with that at the moment, though; he was too busy dabbing a wet rag at Wolf's wound and mopping up the mess.

"Still hurts," Fox said. Wolf hissed out when he pressed a little more firmly. "See?"

Wolf responded by leveling a middle finger at Fox with his other hand.

"You're such a child." A hand dipped into the medkit, and out came the blaster burn ointment. A generous squeeze went onto his own fingers, then he rubbed it carefully into Wolf's wound. A decade ago he could have never seen himself treating _this_ man, of all people, but here he was, trying to apply as little pressure as he could to minimize the number of middle fingers he got.

"Took worse hits when I was a child. You know, I could do this on my own, Fox. You're so damn slow."

Fox met his eye. This was one of the rare times Wolf's bad eye went uncovered; the scouter had come off with the suit, and Fox was quick enough to push Wolf down against the couch that he hadn't had time to grab the eyepatch. The long gash over his eye never failed to look gruesome; the fur there had never quite regrown right. It was just one of many scars accumulated over the canvas of his form throughout the years, most of which were hidden away by his daily clothes.

Fox balled up the fist that wasn't coated in burn ointment and jabbed it right into Wolf's gut. The blow made him lurch, but he didn't return fire. "Oof."

"Stop whining. You're lucky we were wearing suits. These new blasters are no joke."

Wolf let his head rest against the top of the cushion and tried to relax himself while Fox worked. He sighed. "Better have been worth it. What the hell is in there, anyway?"

Fox mimed Slippy's voice: " _Fiber spectrograph_. Something about looking for planetoids to mine, or something. I don't know." His fingers were done with the torture. He screwed the cap back on the tube and pulled out the gauze and pad he needed to dress the wound. Everything flew by on autopilot; he'd done this hundreds of times throughout his life.

"Important enough that someone wanted it pretty bad, huh? Maybe they found something big."

Fox wound the gauze around Wolf's arm, then snipped it off from the roll with a claw. A couple pieces of tape and he was done. He stood back up and looked down at Wolf. "You'd leap for a fight even if it was over nothing, Wolf."

The only response to that was an amused flick of Wolf's ears. He'd lifted his arm up and worked it through the full range of motion, testing his flexibility. The ointment would do its magic, but it needed to be applied steadily. "I'm gonna have to wear this shit for a week, aren't I?"

"Yup. Hey, that's what you get for trying so hard to impress me."

"Oh, _please_." Wolf gave him a shove that nearly made his back ram into the coffee table. "Fight was over in twenty seconds. Like you woulda had time to–mother _fucker_."

Fox had pressed his palm to that wound, just firmly enough to cause a jolt of pain. He ducked back before Wolf could grab at him. Wolf tried to look pissed, but as a couple seconds rolled by, his lips broke into a slight grin.

Fox met it with one of his own. "I'm gonna call Slippy and report in. See ya soon."

* * *

Wolf was seated at the little desk in his bedroom, just like he always was. The lamplight shone down, illuminating the little bits and pieces of his disassembled blaster, organized and spaced meticulously. Wolf had a cloth running through the barrel, mopping up gunk. He had on that gray sleeveless shirt he always wore at night, and the strap of his eyepatch could be seen flattening a line of fur around the circumference of his head. Learning that Wolf was a creature of routine had been one of the more surprising steps along his journey.

Fox took a seat on the edge of the bed and watched. Wolf always focused so hard on the things that he did; every motion was deliberate, even when it was something he did almost daily.

"The count matched," Fox said. "We got it all, so we're good to go."

"Good. Last thing I wanna do is put that suit back on."

Fox pushed up off the bed, then came up behind Wolf and settled his palms down on his shoulders, feeling the cool synthetic fiber of his shirt. He could feel the slight shift of muscle beneath Wolf's fur every time the older man's hands danced over the carcass of that gun.

"...I'm _trying_ to work here, Fox."

"If you take another shot like that this month, Wolf, I'm gonna have to kick your ass back to Meteo."

Wolf was twirling a screwdriver against the chassis, locking the barrel back into place. He paused midway through a turn and twisted his head back. "Didn't know I'd signed up on a team with my mother. Can you–for _fuck's_ sake, Fox, I'm trying to..."

Fox's hands had slid lower, first along Wolf's upper back, then over his sides, and finally, down his sculpted chest. He spread his legs and sank down against the back of that chair until his mouth was almost level with Wolf's ear. By the time he came to a halt, he had both of his arms locked around Wolf's midriff, palms resting up against his belly. Fox took in a deep breath; by now, he knew Wolf's scent well.

Wolf's protests died on his lips, and he didn't fight back; he just relaxed against the back of the chair and let his shoulders slump down. Fox could feel Wolf's pulse against his arm, enough to feel the way it slowed, just the way it always did when he got in this close. Ten peaceful seconds passed, and in the emptiness of space, they had nothing but the sound of their breaths for company.

These little moments were the ones that people would never expect them to share.

Wolf's hand brushed against his wrist, then encircled it with his fingers. Those pads were cold to the touch. Fox craned his head up slightly, so that he could speak into his companion's ear.

"Leave the gun. Five in the morning's just as good as three, no?" He leaned in just a bit closer, and his words took on an edge. "Unless you're too _hurt_..."

Wolf snarled and the chair scraped loudly against the floor. Soon Fox's back thumped against the bed, and Wolf clambored on top, flashing teeth.

* * *

It was a good forty-five minutes later when Fox emerged from the shower, fur freshly clean and mostly dry. Wolf was waiting for him, sprawled on the bed with his arms hiked up, hands behind his head. He was grinning.

"Someone's looking happy tonight." Fox headed over and crossed his arms, looking down at Wolf. "Maybe I oughtta shoot you in the arm every now and then, if it'll keep you from being grumpy."

"We make a good team."

Fox took a seat on the edge of the bed and tilted his snout back towards Wolf, whose bare lower body was hidden beneath the blanket. "We were split up the whole mission. You're just saying that because I let you fuck me."

Wolf reached behind his head, clutched a pillow, and hurled it at Fox, who caught it and thumped it against the bulge Wolf's legs made under the covers.

"Gonna have to cancel those plans for today if we want any sleep," Wolf said. He lazily pawed at the pillow, but Fox jerked it back before he could get a grip.

There was a time, not too long ago, when Fox would have insisted they could still make it. Now? He was tired. Wolf was tired and wounded. The lecture started in two hours, and that was barely enough time to get dressed and fly to Corneria. He'd have no time to review material, and he'd be utterly exhausted.

So Fox nodded. "That's fine. Shit happens. That reminds me, I should probably send a message..." He tossed the pillow back at Wolf, who fluffed it and tucked it back under his head.

Fox grabbed his comm off the table and brought up the mail app, hitting reply to that last message from the flight academy colloquium coordinator. "I can reschedule the master class for another day, but you can't postpone a break-in." He kept the message pretty terse, and once he sent it, he turned his head back to Wolf.

Wolf looked thoughtful. His head was resting back against the pillow; he'd folded his hands on his chest, and his eyes were cast up to the ceiling.

Fox squinted. "Hey. What's wrong? Something on your mind?"

Wolf took in a deep breath, then shook his head. He was trying to hide the way his ears drooped down, but that didn't work on Fox. When Fox didn't look away, he sighed and cleared his throat. "It's just... when I think about it, that wouldn't have happened ten years ago."

It took Fox a moment to figure out what that meant. His eyes went to the bandage on Wolf's arm. _I oughtta be asking_ you _that, old man._ "...oh. I didn't mean..."

Fox sat down on the bed and scooted over right next to his old rival. He took a moment to find the right words. "Ten years ago, I was wiping the floor with you in the skies, Wolf. You weren't invincible then, and you still aren't now. You..." He paused to think. "You still have a _lot_ of years left in you."

It took a few moments for the words to go through, but they did their job: Wolf's ears refound most of their confidence, and the corners of his mouth eased upwards. The older man held out a hand that Fox promptly grasped. It was firm–like a handshake.

Wolf met his eyes. "I don't know how long we're gonna be doing this, Fox." He squeezed down hard, then let go of Fox's hand and let that arm just rest by his side. "But it ain't too bad a life, and part of me will always wish we'd done it longer."

Fox's tail would have wagged, if not for Wolf's somber tone. "Yeah. I know what you mean."

Wolf pursed his lips. "...not that I didn't like that gig at Sargasso. And I miss it, sometimes, just..." He shook his head, like he shouldn't have said that. "Ah, fuck, I don't know what I'm saying. Too damn tired to be talking."

Fox met those words with a grin that was only a little bit forced. "Fuck those aparoids for not showing up five years earlier, right?"

Wolf shoved him. A moment later, Wolf was sitting up, and those same arms were pulling him back. "C'mere..."

Fox settled down into the bed, and as his eyes closed, he felt Wolf's arm rest against his side. Who knew what tomorrow would bring? They were just two men gliding through the days of their lives one at a time, trying to figure out the world at the ripe ages of thirty-two and forty-one. Ten years ago, it had all seemed so straightforward, and to Fox, everything looked so black and white. So much had changed since then, not the least of which was their sharing a bed. And they were getting old. There were young upstarts rising in the ranks, and new storied pilots graduating the academy.

Things were different now, and a ship felt lonely with only two inhabitants. He didn't have Slippy croaking in his earpiece. He didn't have Falco watching his back, and he didn't have Peppy to look up to anymore. Those were all memories now, held as close to his heart as any could be.

 _Just_ Fox. _Just_ Wolf. It wasn't good, and it wasn't bad. It's just the way things were.

The world melted away into nothingness.


End file.
